


The Seven Maids' Mere

by Martha



Category: Joseph Sheridan LeFanu, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martha/pseuds/Martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So <a href="http://keiko-kirin.livejournal.com/">Keiko Kirin </a> suggested a day-in-the-life sort of tale when she won a story from me in the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/help_haiti/profile">help_haiti</a> auction, and that's what I wrote. More or less.</p><p>It helps if you imagine SGA was an anthology of Irish ghost stories from a couple of centuries back.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Seven Maids' Mere

**Author's Note:**

> So [Keiko Kirin ](http://keiko-kirin.livejournal.com/) suggested a day-in-the-life sort of tale when she won a story from me in the [help_haiti](http://community.livejournal.com/help_haiti/profile) auction, and that's what I wrote. More or less.
> 
> It helps if you imagine SGA was an anthology of Irish ghost stories from a couple of centuries back.

    


Ronon Dex's Story 

  
    
The Seven Maids are seven mountains encircling the mere, which is a deep, still, inland sea reflecting the gentle slope of the hillsides, purple with heather and heath. In years long past, the folk of Ardaugh had grazed their herds on those mountainsides, but the village is now a three days' walk further inland, and all that remains of the ancestral town are tumbled stone cairns and the ruins of a broken tower at the edge of the water.   
    
When Ronon heard that Evan Lorne's team would be camping in the mountains above the Seven Maids' Mere while Dr. Parrish collected samples, his first thought (after he got over his initial shock) was that he really shouldn't have been surprised. He loved Earthers dearly, but as brave as they were, they were also insane, every last one of them   
    
"The Seven Maids' Mere?" he sputtered, dribbling crumbs of cornbread muffin. McKay wrinkled his nose in distaste, as though he never dropped a crumb or ten from his own meal, and moved his tray out of range. Sheppard unhelpfully pounded Ronon on the back while Teyla waited until he had his coughing under control before asking if he were quite all right.   
    
When he could speak again, Ronon demanded, "What would anyone want with that place?"   
    
McKay waved his fork vaguely. "Oh, you know Dr. Parrish. It's his quest for a pan-galactic phylogenetic signal in Ericaceae."   
    
"Yeah," Sheppard agreed, pointing to Rodney and grinning in that self-satisfied way that always made Ronon sorta want to clobber him one. "You know. That thing."   
    
Ronon stared at the two of them for a moment longer, then shrugged and took another bite of muffin, this time washing it down with a long swig of water. The muffins were tasty but dry. He'd put a lot more butter on the next one. "Fine. It's their funeral."   
    
"I know," Rodney said. "Can you imagine anything more boring?"   
    
"Wait a minute." It was Sheppard's turn to sputter. "Who said anything about funerals? Lorne told me the liveliest things in those hills are songbirds and some really impressive grasshoppers."   
    
"Probably true."   
    
"Oh, don't go all laconic on me now! Is there something else Lorne needs to know about Ardaugh before he takes a team of scientists there?"   
    
"Ardaugh's fine. Good goat cheese."   
    
"What Ronon means," Teyla interrupted, apparently having lost patience with them all, "is that the Seven Maids' Mere itself has an … unfortunate reputation."   
    
"Unfortunately, it's haunted," Ronon clarified.   
    
"Oh, of course it is." McKay promptly lost interest and turned back to his laptop.   
    
"Oookay," Sheppard drawled. "Does this haunting pose any threat to Lorne's mission?"   
    
Ronon exchanged a look with Teyla. "Sleepless nights. Or bad dreams, maybe, if you do get to sleep."   
    
Teyla looked like she wasn't planning to get into it, but she nodded.   
    
"That's it? No actual, physical danger, just ghost stories?"   
    
Ronon shrugged. "Life's hard enough. Why look for bad dreams?"   
    
"All right. Why is it haunted?"   
    
"Who can explain a haunting? Do bad things happen because a place is haunted, or is it the bad things that cause the haunting?" Really, sometimes Ronon had to wonder what universe Sheppard and McKay came from. The distance of a galaxy or two couldn't account for all their ignorance.   
    
"Oh, great," McKay muttered, proving that he was still listening. "Chicken-or-the-egg ghost stories."   
    
"The Wraith cull everywhere, but there are only a few places where the culling marks the air you breathe, the very ground beneath your feet." This was like telling a story to children, Ronon suddenly realized, and that thought made him feel rather tenderly patient towards Sheppard and McKay, instead of just exasperated.   
    
"This is what happened at the Seven Maids' Mere. It was centuries ago, when the town of Ardaugh was still right there on the banks. The Wraith arrived one summer afternoon. The people of Ardaugh are shepherds, not fighters, and they stood beside their flocks, and they just died.   
    
"All except for one young mother. She was strong and brave and clever, and she didn't want to die. She kept one step ahead of the drones as they went from house to house and from field to field. With her babe in her arms, she hid in hayracks and attics, closets and hedgerows, until at last, just at sunset, she climbed to the very top of the old watchtower on the shore of the mere. The Wraith were sated from their feast, getting lazy and careless, and she thought she had reached her final hiding place unseen.   
    
"But one last Wraith saw her shadow against the empty windows as she climbed the tower."   
    
"Oh, no." McKay had given up all pretence of working. "Does this have a sad ending? Because I don't want to hear it if it has a sad ending."   
    
"When she could climb no higher, she went to the edge of the tower and looked down at the waters of the mere, all red from the sunset. And when she turned back, the final drone was right behind her, his feeding arm outstretched, and there was no escape."   
    
"Ronon," McKay protested. "I'm warning you--"   
    
"My grandfather taught me two important things about courage when I was very young. One, that courage without compassion is no courage at all, and the other, that the will to survive alone is not worth surviving. And this young mother, seeing the Wraith upon her, held her baby up so the Wraith would feed upon her infant instead."   
    
"Oh my god." McKay buried his head in his hands. "I told you I didn't want to hear a sad story. Didn't you hear me tell you that?"   
    
"Afterwards, the wizened corpse still clutched in her arms, she tried to fling herself from the parapet, but the drone caught her. Nobody knows what happened next, but when the survivors returned to Ardaugh, they found her wandering the shores of the Seven Maids' Mere, holding her dead child wrapped tight in its swaddling clothes. She had gone utterly mad with grief, and she refused all comfort or shelter, but there was a more terrible thing, still. Though the years passed, but she never grew old or frail."   
    
"That's it. I'm leaving." McKay announced without moving.   
    
"The Ardaugh folk were too tender-hearted to banish her, but the sight of that woman walking endlessly along the shore with a twisted, dried up little corpse in her arms, started to make everyone miserable."   
    
"Imagine that," Sheppard murmured.   
    
"First the alehouses with windows facing the shoreline closed up shop or moved inland, because no one wanted to see a thing like that when they were trying to enjoy a beer at the end of the day, and eventually people with houses facing the water boarded up their windows, because they said the woman would come peer into their rooms at night. It just went on and on, until look at Ardaugh now. Miles away from the Seven Maids' Mere."   
    
"And that's what's haunting the mere?" Sheppard demanded. "A deranged immortal woman who gave her baby to the Wraith?"   
    
"What?" Really, sometimes Ronon wondered why he even tried. "Of course not. No one's seen her for centuries. That's what Teyla and me were trying to tell you. The mere is _haunted_."   
    


Evan Lorne's Story 

  
    
His team was supposed to spend five, possibly six nights in the hills above the Seven Maids' Mere, depending on the progress of Dr. Parrish's sample collections. Instead they were back after two. Parrish was packed straight off to the infirmary, and his crates of precious samples were quarantined over his strenuous objections. Unfortunately for him, the more he argued, the worse his hacking and coughing became, until he was doubled over in the gateroom, wheezing for breath. Dr. Keller gave him a shove, not entirely gently, and he folded up on the gurney like a felled tree. "And stay put, you idiot," Evan said, holding his shoulders while Keller took his vitals and the nurse who had accompanied her, Lieutenant Pacheco, fit an oxygen mask over his face.   
    
Evan took a step or two after them as they headed for the infirmary, and then turned back to Carter and Sheppard. "I don't know," he said, shrugging miserably, hands open wide. "I'm hoping it's just a bad case of the flu. It came on so suddenly--" He stopped, collected himself, and started over. "He had a restless night, but we both thought it was just the mission, sirs. You know this project is Dr. Parrish's baby, and he was so excited to finally be at the Seven Maids' Mere I could hardly get him back to camp when the sun started to go down. You know how scientists get when they're on a tear. Um, no offence, Colonel Carter."   
    
"None taken." she said wryly   
    
"Really, Major, I have no idea what you're talking about." Sheppard put in.   
    
Carter shot him a look, and then told Evan kindly, "Your full report can wait until we know more about Dr. Parrish's condition."   
    
Within a couple of hours, Dr. Keller reported that although Parrish had pneumonia, she thought he was already responding to the antibiotics. Furthermore, given the rapid progress of the infection, he was more likely to have picked it up from crewmembers on Atlantis than from anything related to the Seven Maids' Mere. The upshot was that there was no need to destroy the Ericaceae samples, and they could make plans to return after Parrish was well. That news calmed Dr. Parrish enough that he was finally able to rest without sedatives.   
    
For his part, after the briefing Evan went to take a long, hot soak in one of the bathing rooms in a tower over the east landing pad, wishing he could justify a sedative or two for himself.   
    
He reminded himself that Dr. Parrish was going to be all right. Neither Sheppard or Carter had asked for details about Parrish's restless night, so Evan didn't need to talk about it, and anyway, it was more than adequately explained by the fact that the poor idiot had been too excited about rolling hillsides of Ericaceae genera to notice he was coming down with pneumonia.   
    
The first night, Evan had awakened to find Parrish struggling with the zipper on the two-man tent. "Dr. Parrish?" he called. "Hey, buddy-system offworld, remember?"   
    
Parrish didn't answer, and in the next moment, he had the tent flap open, and had escaped into the night. "Parrish! Goddammit." Evan scrambled after him. A lantern went on in Geneivie's and Nazif's tent, throwing shadows against the nylon sides.   
    
"Everything all right?" Geneivie called.   
    
"Fine, fine," Evan said. "Just taking a pit stop." He shone his flashlight into the darkness, but saw no sign of Parrish. "Dr. Parrish!" he yelled again.   
    
"That way." Nazif crouched in the door of her own tent and pointed her flashlight in the opposite direction. The bright beam picked out Dr. Parrish ambling along comfortably in the darkness.   
    
"Thanks," Evan muttered, and took off after him, grabbing his arm when he caught up. "Hey, whoa, Doc. The latrine is in the other direction."   
    
Parrish allowed himself to be stopped. "I don't need to go," he answered slowly.   
    
"Then why are you wandering around out here? I promise you, all your beautiful little blue Ericaceae will still be there in the morning."   
    
"All right," Parrish agreed carefully, and allowed Evan to guide him back to their tent, where he slept the rest of the night without stirring. For his part, Evan spent the rest of the night cross-legged on his sleeping bag. Somnambulism during an off-world mission was no laughing matter. Probably he should have bundled them all back through the gate as soon as morning broke, but Dr. Parrish hadn't moved again during the night, and he was so eager to get started the next morning that Evan didn't have the heart to call it quits.   
    
Nevertheless, the next night he sat up outside the tent with a thermos of coffee to keep himself awake. Obviously he wouldn't be able to handle every watch all week, but he had to satisfy himself that Parrish's wandering around in his sleep was a one-time aberration.   
    
Around three o'clock in the morning, when Evan was buzzing pleasantly from caffeine and lack of sleep, happily contemplating a room-sized oil of the whales of Atlantis that he would never actually paint, he was jolted by a scrabbling sound from the front of Parrish's tent. He brought his flashlight up, but what he saw, half-draped in the tent flap, startled him so badly he unholstered his weapon and yelled for Geneivie and Nazif.   
    
Something misshapen and blind was fumbling in the entrance of the tent, and Evan's flashlight divided the world into impenetrably black shadows and blank, halogen-white surfaces. Shapes stuttered before his eyes, as flat as playing cards. He yelled for Parrish, not daring to aim his weapon while he couldn't see anything clearly. Then Geneivie was on his other side, and in the light of both flashlights, the shuffling images flipped into three dimensions   
    
Dr. Parrish was trying to drag himself out the tent, pulling himself weakly on one elbow, forehead to the ground. He curled himself to one side, then thrashed painfully to the other side, his lanky frame bending like an earthworm pulled from loose dirt.   
    
"Oh, Christ," Evan moaned, dropping to his knees beside him. "Dr. Parrish." He grabbed Parrish's shoulders and pushed him over onto his back. "Come on. Come back to us here."   
    
Dr. Parrish's eyes opened, and Evan's head dropped in relief. "Dammit, Doctor, you scared me half to --"   
    
"He's walking around in my brain," Parrish said quietly and hopelessly. "Upstairs, downstairs, in his nightgown."   
    
"OK, pack it up," Evan said to Nazif and Geneivie. "We're heading back to the gate right now."   
    
"What?" Parrish wailed, nothing quiet about him now. "Major Lorne, what are you talking about? We're supposed to be here for another week.  You _promised_."   
    
"Oh my god," Evan said. He released Parrish's shoulders, but only so he could lay the back of his hand on his forehead. "You're burning up. Why didn't you tell me you were getting sick?"   
    
"I'm not sick! I'm fine!"   
    
"Uh huh. I'm going to let you explain to Dr. Keller how fine you are."   
    
"But it's not fair!" Parrish complained, as petulant as a child, and he kept it up all the way back to the gate, dragging his feet and stumbling while Evan cursed himself seven ways from Sunday for not calling it quits last night when he'd caught Parrish sleepwalking.   
    
And then as Nazif was punching in the gate code, Parrish had turned to Evan and said quite clearly, "Up the stairs. I can _see_ him, Major."   
    
And as stupid as it was, Evan still felt spooked. Which was ridiculous, because Dr. Parrish had been hallucinating, caught in a fever dream. He was going to be all right.   
    
Nevertheless, sitting stationary in a lovely, warm bath was suddenly intolerable. Evan swam to the side and hauled himself out. Atlantis adjusted the humidity in his immediate vicinity to dry him, and it was like being enveloped in his own personal, and very gentle desert wind, almost as soothing as the bath. He reached for his clothes, moving to the window as he buttoned his shirt. The sky was so clear today he could see the curve of the planet along the distant horizon. Or maybe he was just imagining that. He would have to ask one of the scientists if this window was really high enough for him to see the world's curvature.   
    
Then he saw movement much closer to hand. There on a balcony a level or so down and slightly north of his window, Dr. McKay and Colonel Sheppard were engaged in a furious discussion. Evan wasn't  sure what room they were standing outside of -- his best guess was  one of the engineering labs. He watched for a moment, then smiled, because only McKay's side of the discussion was actually furious. The Colonel was leaning his hip against the balustrade, listening with a patient, slightly amused attitude that was obvious even from Evan's distance.   
    
Below, matters appeared to reach a crisis of some kind.  Dr. McKay threw his arms in the air and turned away. Before he could take a step, though, the Colonel put out his hand and grasped McKay's forearm, reeling him in. Evan winced, more than half expecting Sheppard to get a fist in his snoot for his trouble.   
    
Instead, Dr. McKay  graced the Colonel with broad, crooked smile, so openly happy that Evan grinned down at him in helpless sympathy. Then he collected himself and stepped back from the window before he could see anything more.   
    


Teyla Emmagen's Story

  
She found Major Lorne was sitting rigid over a cup of cooling coffee in the mess. He looked as though he were trying to get himself under control, which Teyla understood.  She had heard John say often enough that it was always harder when it was one of the scientists.   
    
He didn't notice Teyla approaching his table until she stopped directly across from him. "May I join you?"   
    
"Ms. Emmagen." Lorne got to his feet.  "Yes, of course."   
    
"Thank you." She sat down with a cup of tea and a chocolate-frosted doughnut and saw Lorne shake his head.   
    
"Something amuses you?" she asked, smiling.   
    
 He didn't smile back.  Apparently, nothing was very amusing to him this morning. "I just never figured you ate a lot of chocolate."   
    
"I do not," she agreed,  tearing her doughnut in half and taking a small bite. The intense burst of concentrated sweet on her tongue was so potent she felt her entire body flush a bit, as though she had just downed a good swallow of linden flower wine. "But Dr. McKay speaks quite eloquently of its virtues, both physical and even spiritual." She took another careful bite. "All I can verify personally is that it can be very tasty."   
    
"Ah." Lorne nodded and didn't say anything more.  Teyla allowed the silence to continue as she finished the sweet, sweet doughnut, then washed away the cloying sugar with her cooling cup of tea. It was refreshingly bitter after the chocolate. Finally she laid down her cup and watched Major Lorne. He was distracted and unhappy, so oblivious to his surroundings that long minutes passed before he became aware of her scrutiny. When he finally realized she was watching him, he apologized and started to rise.  "I'm sorry. I'm terrible company this morning.  If you'll excuse me --"   
    
Teyla laid her hand over his. "Do not apologize. I have heard that Dr. Parrish is not improving as quickly as we had all hoped."   
    
Major Lorne settled down again and raked his fingers through his hair. "No," he agreed, looking down at the table instead of at Teyla. "No, he isn't. I thought he would be going back to his quarters this morning, and instead he's strapped to his infirmary bed because he's been delirious half the night.  Doc Keller can't keep his fever down, the antibiotics aren't working, and now she's saying it may not be bacterial pneumonia at all."   
    
"I am very sorry."   
    
"And in the meantime Dr. McKay is trying to understand an Ancient device that will pinpoint what's making Parish so sick, and somehow, that's just not making me feel any better."   
    
"Dr. McKay believes the device can identify a single DNA strand without waiting for it to replicate. If he can verify for Dr. Keller that Dr. Parrish's illness is indeed being caused by a fungus, as she now suspects, she will be able to begin treatment immediately."   
    
Lorne raised his head to look at her.   
    
"I sat with Dr. McKay for a few hours very early this morning. I am not so arrogant as to believe I can actually be of any assistance to him." Teyla spread her hands over the table. "But I have observed that talking to me sometimes seems to calm him."   
    
"That's --" Major Lorne was visibly trying to rein in his surprise. "That's great, I guess. Thank you. But if it's such a wonderful diagnostic tool, why the hell did everyone wait until now to try and figure it out?"   
    
Teyla sympathized with his frustration. It was not so very different from what she had heard from Rodney and Jennifer this morning. "There are thousands upon thousands of useful machines here in the City of the Ancients. Dr. McKay also regrets the circumstances that have forced us to spend most of our time and energy on devices for self defense."   
    
"God, I know that." Lorne said miserably. "I'm just worried about Dr. Parrish. Why can't Keller go ahead and treat him now for what she thinks is the problem?"   
    
"My understanding is that the preferred treatment for fungal pneumonia will be very hard on Dr. Parrish's other organs, and she does not yet feel it is worth the risk in the absence of firmer proof."   
    
"I guess that's why you and me are sitting here in the mess and Keller is the one treating Dr. Parrish, huh?" Major Lorne said ruefully.   
    
"That is probably true," Teyla agreed with a slight smile. The mess was quiet in the mid morning, and she and Lorne were mostly alone, save for the occasional scientist or off-duty soldier. Sunlight pushed shadows across the far wall.   
    
"And can you explain to me about Specialist Dex?" Lorne suddenly burst out. "What was the point of that ghost story he told me about the mere?"   
    
"Ronon was quite surprised, I believe, to learn that your people have no comparable tradition of locations that are widely understood to be ... unfortunate."   
    
"Unfortunate." Lorne repeated flatly. "The word Ronon used was 'haunted.'"   
    
"Yes."   
    
"We tell haunted house stories. We just don't believe them."   
    
Teyla nodded thoughtfully. She had begun to believe this was one of those occasions (which were not altogether infrequent) when they were using the same words to mean very different things. "I am not entirely convinced of the truth of the story that Ronon tells." She shrugged. "Of course, it may have happened as the Satedans believe. All I know is that the Athosians tell a different story about the Seven Maids' Mere and its unfortunate history."   
    
"And I suppose it's the Athosians who have the real story."   
    
"The tale I have always heard about the mere is not wholly dissimilar from the Satedan story. Though of course, I prefer to believe the version I grew up with."   
    
"Well, all right," Major Lorne said. "Out with it."   
    
"Out with it?"   
    
"The Athosian story. What's your version?"   
    
"Are you sure that you have the patience for storytelling this morning? I do not believe the tale my people tell of the Seven Maids' Mere can shed any further light on Dr. Parrish's illness."   
    
"Look, Ms. Emmagen. Teyla. I know I'm being a jerk this morning, but the truth is, I am very grateful for your company. If you don't mind staying, I'd like to hear the story the Athosians tell. It can't be worse than the Satedan story. It isn't, is it?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.   
    
"Well, it is not particularly cheerful," she told him honestly.   
    
"All right. I've been warned."   
    
So Teyla related the story Athosians tell each other about the Seven Maids' Mere. It didn't take her long to remember, however, that Major Lorne was most emphatically not Athosian. She was explaining how grave a social sin it was for the eldest son of the wealthy Ardaugh family to leave home. While it was true Oran's father had left the estate encumbered with debt, that just meant it was all the more important that Oran do everything in his power to return the property and the fortune to its earlier glories. But instead of caring for his family, he left through the Stargate one day without a word to anyone.   
    
Teyla was attempting to drive home what a severe beach of honor and familial responsibility this was, when she realized Lorne's attention was wandering. So she cut to the chase.   
    
"And then twenty years later, long after everyone had given up any hope of seeing Oran again, he returned through the gate. What was more, Oran came home a very wealthy man. So wealthy, in fact, that he paid off all the debts on the family property, and set about building the tremendous tower on the banks of the mere. You can still see the ruins there. He helped the families of his brothers and sisters in every way he could to make up for the years of neglect, and although he did not take a wife, he chose a handsome young companion for himself, to be a comfort to him in his older years."   
    
"Oh, that sort of companion?" Lorne asked with a smirk.   
    
"A companion in all things," Teyla returned, somewhat severely. There were times when she became weary of some Earthers' provincialism, but then she felt a little guilty, because it was certainly no wonder if the Major was not at his best this morning.   
    
But Lorne was also holding up both hands in apology. "I'm just making sure we're on the same page."   
    
Teyla returned his smile. "Yes, I believe we are on the 'same page.' In fact, the whole town along with Oran's own siblings approved of the arrangement, because it meant he would not have children of his own to claim a share of his wealth."   
    
"So everyone was happy."   
    
"Not quite everyone, because in addition to his fortune, Oran also returned to the banks of the mere with a mysterious servant that his young companion came to strongly dislike and even fear. The servant was a tall, saturnine man with long white hair and a facial deformation that caused him to wear a partial veil over his face at all times."   
    
"I think I'm seeing a problem," Lorne said.   
    
"Yes, so did Oran's companion. He pleaded with Oran to send the servant away, but he would not. What was worse, as time passed it became increasingly clear that the servant exerted a powerful, even sinister influence over Oran. The only peace in the household came when the servant would travel for weeks at a time through the Stargate. But all too soon for the young companion, the servant always returned, and Oran would descend once more into a deep melancholia from which nothing could rouse him.   
    
"A year passed, and Oran's family began preparations for a great feast to celebrate the anniversary of the Oran's triumphant return.  It was then that the servant abruptly announced he was leaving on another long trip. The companion was overjoyed. To his dismay, however, Oran was not happy to hear the news. He shut himself up in his rooms, and he was barely seen or heard from in the days leading up to the feast.   
    
"The morning of the celebration, Oran called his companion to him. His face was drawn with sorrow, and he refused all attempts at comfort. The companion begged to know what was troubling him, and Oran finally told him, with many stumbling words, that his servant would be returning that very night.   
    
"The companion was terribly dismayed, and begged to know why Oran would not send the hated man away for good.   
    
"Oran hushed his companion and told him seriously and sadly, that if the companion loved him -- and the companion swore that he did -- that he must follow his instructions without question or hesitation tonight during the celebration. The time would come when he would see Oran leaving the great hall. At that moment, the companion must flee straight to the Ring of the Ancestors and leave the Seven Maids' Mere forever.   
    
"It made no difference how the companion wept. Oran would explain nothing more, and that night, it happened just as he had said. At the height of the feast, with the whole town and all of the family of the eldest son, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, everyone gathered together to celebrate the anniversary of Oran's return, Oran himself quietly slipped away.   
    
"As he had promised, the companion left the celebration as well, though he did it with a heavy heart. He looked back once before he crossed the final hill, and saw two figures climbing the tower Oran had built on the banks of the mere, carrying one bright lantern between them. The companion watched as long as he dared, until he was certain it was Oran and his servant climbing the long set of winding stairs to the top of the tower.   
    
"Then the companion fled to the Stargate, and never returned to his home.  Later word was spread by traveling tradesmen that the town on the banks of the Seven Maids' Mere had been culled down to the last man. No one has ever lived there since."   
    
Lorne nodded. "Happy little story."   
    
"No," Teyla said. "It is not."   
    
"So in exchange for a year of being the big family man back in his home town, he betrayed everyone to the Wraith. Nice guy. We call that sort of deal a Faustian bargain."   
    
Teyla cocked her head in question.   
    
"A deal with the devil."   
    
"Yes, it is that."   
    
"Ronon's story was just about as cheerful. Does anyone have any happy stories about that place?"   
    
Teyla smiled sadly. "The Genii used to tell a story about a plague that wiped out all the goat herds."   
    
"Let me guess. And then the Wraith came and culled everyone else."   
    
"It is more complicated than that!" Teyla protested "But, yes, that is what happens, more or less."   
    
Major Lorne actually laughed. His voice was stark and loud in the empty mess hall. "Thanks, Teyla. I feel lots better now."   
    


Rodney McKay's Story 

  
    
"I've had a thought."   
    
Rodney didn't look up.   
    
"What if we're going about this the wrong way?"   
    
"We're not."   
    
"But what if we are? Rodney, just listen to me for a minute."   
    
Rodney flapped his left hand vaguely around his ear. It was a perfectly clear shoo-fly response, but the pest just kept talking.   
    
"Real-time polymerase chain reactions use dye to mark RNA strands as they're growing. Are you sure the Ancients' technique is really so different?"   
    
Rodney dropped his head, then pushed himself away from the panel. "Two things," he said. "First, shut up. Second thing: go away." He finally lifted his head. Jennifer was looking at him with a determined smile on her face, but a tight, miserable expression in her eyes. Rodney had the terrible suspicion that she was trying not to cry. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize, when he noticed something more important. "Wait a minute," he said. "Where's Dr. Sheridan?"   
    
"Her name is Dr. Chauncey," Jennifer said. "And I sent her to her quarters to get some rest."   
    
"You did what? Oh, no no no. Not acceptable. What were you thinking? Dr. Speak-n-Spell here can't verify any of his translation without a mycologist sitting right beside him."   
    
The linguist hunched his shoulders a bit, but otherwise didn't disagree. He had given up arguing with Rodney hours ago, and they had made much better progress since then.   
    
"Dr. Chauncey has been on duty for almost eighteen hours, Rodney. So have you. So has Gregor, here." She indicated the linguist. "If I had the authority to send you to your quarters as well--"   
    
"Which you don't," Rodney interrupted, relieved.   
    
"Like I was saying," Jennifer continued, "if I had the authority to make you two take a break as well, I would do it. You're not helping Dr. Parrish by running yourselves ragged."   
    
"However, when I figure out how to program this machine's output, we will be in a position to stop fluid and neutrophils from continuing to flood Dr. Parrish's alveoli, so that you don't have to cut a hole into his lungs to keep him from drowning alive! This is an issue we can all agree upon, am I correct? So get Dr. Chicanery back here so we can keep working."   
    
"I'm not going to do that," Jennifer said, "but I do understand you need a medical doctor to help with the translation. That's why I've cleared the next couple of hours to lend you a hand while Becca gets some sleep."   
    
"Becca?" Rodney puzzled.   
    
"Dr. Chauncey."   
    
Rodney thought Jennifer's smile was beginning to look a little strained. But that wasn't his problem. What was his problem, god help him, was that Jennifer actually thought she was presenting a solution. Rodney rather wanted to cry himself at that, but frankly, that wouldn't have solved any of his problems either.   
    
"Excuse me," he explained in his most reasonable voice. "We need a medical mycologist to help with the translation. I'm sure your specialization in neural biology made your parents very proud, but right now, you're about as helpful as a backroom chiropractor to me. In fact, a chiropractor would be more helpful, since she might be able to take care of this crick in my neck. And for that matter, why aren't you back in sickbay taking care of Dr. Parrish instead of standing around here impeding my forward progress?"   
    
Jennifer wasn't pretending to smile any more. "You do understand, Rodney, that as soon as I decide your work is compromising your health, I will have the authority to send you to your quarters."   
    
"Oh, now, that is just blackmail," Rodney snarled back   
    
"You know what?" John interrupted. Rodney hadn't even realized he was in the lab. "I was just going to take McKay here for a cup of coffee."   
    
"Wait, what? No, you are not. Though I could use a fresh cup, if you're going anyway. Take Keller with you."   
    
Instead of listening to him, John looped his arm around Rodney's and gently but irresistibly pulled him away from the control panel. "Gregor, you take a break too. McKay will call you when he's ready to get started again. It won't be for a couple of hours."   
    
"Excuse me, I'm standing right here, and no one is going anywhere."   
    
"Except to get some coffee, remember?" Sheppard said, sounding so reasonable he somehow managed to walk Rodney right out of the lab. He did listen sympathetically enough to Rodney's litany of woe.   
    
"This project is a disaster. We simply don't have a good enough linguist stationed on Atlantis right now to get the DNA reader working in time to help Dr. Parrish."   
    
"Who would be a good enough linguist?"   
    
"Elizabeth." Rodney said without hesitation. The clutch of grief around his heart was no more bearable for being unsurprising by this point. Still, his feet tangled, and he would have fallen if John hadn't been close. "The biological sciences have a special syntax in Ancient, and Dr. Weir was especially skilled at --" He broke off and had to walk a few more steps before he could continue. "Anyway. Daniel Jackson could probably do it," he allowed at length. "He has an annoyingly high opinion of himself, but I admit, he does seem to have a gift for languages."   
    
"I'd heard that." John agreed gravely. Rodney shot him a look, wondering if he was being mocked, but John's expression was serious. He continued, "Didn't you already send a query to Jackson at the SGC?"   
    
"Yes, and we should get an answer back at the regular check-in, which is in--" McKay checked his wristwatch, "--about six hours. It makes me crazy, because you know what? If it was me lying in sickbay on oxygen, that would be important enough to open the gate a couple of hours early. Now, while it's true that I am more vital to the success of the program than any one captain--"   
    
"Botanist."   
    
"What?" Rodney was distracted by the distant sounds of Captain Griffin's wishing him luck as the bulkhead closed.   
    
"Parrish is a botanist."   
    
"Um, yes," Rodney agreed, talking slowly. "Are you feeling all right?"   
    
"I'm fine," John said cheerfully. "Of course, I got a good night's sleep last night."   
    
"Well, good for you. Some of us were sitting up with a linguist and a mycologist like characters in a bad joke about a piano bar, trying to save a botanist's life, because he doesn't deserve to die, no matter how ridiculous his field!"   
    
"Nobody is dying," Sheppard said, maddeningly calm.   
    
Rodney stopped and looked at where they were. "I thought we were going for coffee."   
    
"That's what I told you," John agreed. Then he proceeded to palm open Rodney's bedroom door. "I was lying."   
    
Rodney tried to muster the required outrage, but John smoothly talked over him as steered Rodney into his quarters and coaxed him into the bed. "Nobody is dying, botanist or captain or anyone else. Dr. Keller says that Parrish is stable for now. You're not going to have an answer from Stargate Command for six more hours, and Gregor and Becca agree you're all just spinning your wheels until you all hear back from Daniel Jackson on the declension of nouns for eukaryotes. So there's plenty of time for everybody to get some sleep."   
    
"Wait a minute," Rodney grumbled suspiciously. "Who have you been talking to?"   
    
"I have my sources," John said, gently pushing Rodney's shoulders to the mattress. Then he closed Rodney's mouth with a kiss, which was absolutely not fair. Rodney's eyelids fluttered shut. Lost in the lush press of John' lips against his own, he couldn't help floating for just a moment or two. Then the sweet pressure eased, and Rodney regretfully opened his eyes.   
    
The room was much brighter, and John was gone. Rodney swung his legs out of bed and got up. More time must have passed than he had realized. His first thought was to head straight back to the lab, but he thought about Dr. Parrish, his lungs filling while Rodney laid around catching up on sleep, and he had to go to the infirmary first. He knew he couldn't do any good for Parrish, standing at the observation window watching him cough, but that's where his feet were taking him.   
    
He could hear sloshing liquid as he walked down the hallways. He thought at first it was the liquid accumulating in poor Dr. Parrish's lungs, but that was absurd, especially after he saw Captain Griffin ahead of him. He looked back at Rodney just before he disappeared into the transporter. "'The Barcelona McKays?' That was a good one, Doc," he said genially. By the time McKay got to the transporter, he was gone. He expected to catch up when he reached the infirmary, but there was no sign of the captain.   
    
Rodney heard Parrish coughing, a wet painful sound, and peeked around the door. The botanist was lying on stark white blankets on a narrow pallet in an empty room. His head and shoulders were covered by the plastic sheeting of an old-fashioned oxygen tent, and that was an odd thing, wasn't it? Rodney had a vague memory, surely, of signing off on preparations for a special environment room. Even that concern faded next to his surprise over Parrish being left alone. It was bad enough they wouldn't open the Stargate early for him -- now they wouldn't assign medical personnel either?   
    
Rodney moved to his bedside. He could still hear the wet coughing, but Dr. Parrish lay as still as a corpse on his sheet. The folds of the oxygen tent blurred the lines of his face. Rodney thought his eyes were closed. "Dr Parrish?" he asked quietly. He didn't want to wake him if he were asleep, but he was troubled to find him here alone. "Do you need a nurse? Is there anything -- um-- is there anything I can do?"   
    
The wet sound of coughing went on even though the body on the sheet didn't seem to move a muscle. There was an odd bundle next to Parrish's head. It looked like a pillow had gotten awkwardly bunched up. Rodney glanced over his shoulder, hoping for some medical personnel to please show up, but he and Parrish were alone. Shivering from a sudden chill, Rodney moved to the head of the bed and stuck his hand through the plastic. "I'm not letting too much oxygen out, am I?" he asked nervously. The plastic sheeting sloughed against his sleeve.  The sound of coughing continued.   
    
Rodney put his hand on the pillow next to Parrish's head. Whatever it was, it wasn't soft. He felt knobs and raw ends, more like a sack of chicken bones than any kind of a pillow.  Rodney groped around it one-handed, trying not to move the plastic too much. The weird bundle wasn't very big, but it was oddly heavy. All at once, it rolled to the side. Rodney tugged harder in frustration, and within, something snapped dryly.   
    
All right, this was absurd. Rodney pushed aside the plastic so he could see what he was dealing with, oxygen be damned.   
    
 The first thing he saw was that Parrish's face was slack and empty. The coughing continued anyway. The lump next to Parrish's head was clearly no pillow at all, but some sort of object or device swaddled in loose cloths. Rodney folded back a dangling end, and only then did he see a tiny, wizened fist protruding from the knot of material.   
    
Rodney came awake with a shriek.   
    
"Hey, easy." John was gripping his shoulders. "I didn't mean to scare you."   
    
"You didn't. You didn't," Rodney babbled. "Just a bad dream. I'm going to kill Ronon."   
    
"Um, all right. But can it wait? You have visitors."   
    
"Visitors? What are you talking about? Is Parrish all right? Keller hasn't started cutting holes in his back, has she?"   
    
"No holes," said a woman's voice. Rodney struggled to sit up, and John gave him an arm. Standing in the door to his quarters was Colonel Carter. Rodney ran his fingers through his hair and wiped the corners of his mouth instinctively before he realized someone else was standing behind her.   
    
"Dr. Jackson?"   
    
Daniel had his hands in his pockets like this was a Sunday stroll in the park. "I heard from Sam that you were having some translation problems."   
    
"And that's all it took? Your old teammate asks you to come and you just drop everything?"   
    
"Wouldn't you?" Daniel asked, sounding honestly puzzled.   
    
"Not the point!" Rodney huffed. He didn't have anything left to complain about, but he was still cranky from the dream so he snarled, "All this standing around being smug isn't helping Dr. Parrish, is it?"  And he pushed past John, Sam, and Daniel to lead the way back to the lab.   
    


John Sheppard's Story

  
    
As much as he loved McKay, there were times when he really wanted to kill him.   
    
This would be one of those times.   
    
It had taken Dr. Jackson less than an hour to solve the translation problems that had been holding up McKay's work on the DNA reader. McKay had finished his programming in another twenty minutes, Keller had identified the spore that had taken up residence in Parrish's lungs, and when she sent word up that Parrish was tolerating the treatment, McKay had been so overwhelmed he had begged Daniel Jackson in front of everyone to leave Earth for Atlantis. "It's just selfish of you to refuse! We need you here!"   
    
"I think Jack might have something to say about that," Carter remarked with a smile.   
    
With that, McKay seemed to come back to himself and snarled something uncomplimentary about the hoardes of social scientists munching their way through the expedition's food rations before stomping off to yell at Ronon for telling ghost stories instead of warning them about the very _real_and _quantifiable_ danger of disease-causing fungi in the soil.   
    
Unperturbed, Ronon pointed out that he and Teyla had both told them that everyone in the Pegasus Galaxy knew the Seven Maids' Mere was a bad place.   
    
"It's bad because of generations of goats shitting there! It doesn't have anything to do with Wraith spook tales!"   
    
"McKay." Enough was enough. John put his arm around his neck and marched him out of the room, and wasn't particularly gentle about it. He hauled him into a neighboring closet and kissed him with slow care as McKay huffed and grumbled against John's mouth. Eventually, though, McKay wrapped his arms around John's neck and relaxed.

"That's not always going to work, you know." he breathed, his lips against John's ear.   
    
"Hmm," John agreed. Or maybe he was disagreeing. "Let me tell you a story," he said.


End file.
